Suleiman's gaze swept over the marker on the map representing Seaguard, his tone carrying the resolve of a man marching to his death.
"Lord Lymond Lychester and I have decided to lead our troops west, toward the front lines."
"We'll gather the scattered remnants of the army, and I'll search for my liege! We'll see if there's anything we can do to help at the front!"
Norbert Vance was utterly stunned. He stared at Suleiman with his mouth hanging open, like a fish out of water, unable to believe what he was hearing.
In all his years in the scheming Riverlands, he had never met a lord so noble and selfless—especially one whose position was still so precarious, a minor lord who might be swallowed by the storm at any moment.
Going to the front lines now to gather the remnants of the army? What a joke. It was no different from sticking out your neck beneath an Ironborn axe.
Countless thoughts flashed through Norbert Vance's mind. A madman and a little madman, both of them. Yet for some reason, an inexplicable sense of guilt and shame crept over him.
He, Norbert Vance, a great lord of the Riverlands, had slunk home with several thousand men, while this obscure young fellow and an old madman planned to take their pitiful force on a glorious mission for the Riverlands and the entire kingdom.
If he simply left and let these two loyal madmen go to their deaths, how could House Vance ever hold its place in the Riverlands after word got out?
What would the Riverlands' nobles say about him? That Norbert Vance was a coward with no honor, a man who abandoned his allies in their hour of need. The damage to his reputation would be far worse than losing